Day of the Dead
by jespah
Summary: The worst horrors aren't found on a movie screen. Tripp Tucker finds himself whisked to an unfamiliar time and place during Halloween, the Day of the Dead and All Souls' Day, 2161.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"_In the cool of the evening when ev'rything is gettin' kind of groovy, __  
__I call you up and ask you if you want to go and meet and see a movie, __  
__First you say no, you've got some plans for the night, __  
__And then you stop, and say, 'All right.'__  
__Love is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you." _

The Classics IV – Spooky

=/\=

For Commander Charles Tucker III, Halloween was the most wonderful time of the year.

Better than Christmas or Thanksgiving, it was the epitome of everything he loved – horror, pretending to be someone he was not, and rigging elaborate pranks. It was a holiday that, to him, had everything.

And so in 2161, he worked as hard as he could to make it the best Halloween _ever_ on the _NX-01_.

He arranged with Chip Masterson, the guy in charge of Movie Night, to show a horror film every single night. There were some amazing pictures, like Hitchcock's _Psycho_, and some gore fests like _Friday the Thirteenth_, the 1980 slash fest. _Rosemary's Baby_ made an appearance, as did his favorite, the old James Whale _Frankenstein_. It was all leading up to October thirty-first itself and the corker, John Carpenter's _Halloween_.

Much of the time, it seemed, there weren't too many takers for these films. _Psycho_ drew a crowd, and so did _Rosemary's Baby. Frankenstein_ had its fans. But the nastier and bloodier tales, like _Child's Play_ from 1988, were only sparsely attended, and he could not figure out why.

For the thirty-first, he had done his best to line up a date. There were women he could approach and there were others where it was just not a good idea.

He had two exes on board – T'Pol, the Vulcan Science Officer – she was also the First Officer – and the Communications Officer, Ensign Hoshi Sato. There had been less time with Hoshi, but he had become overwhelmed and had proposed. She had, as politely and as firmly as possible, turned him down. As for T'Pol, she had wed another, and then that marriage had dissolved, but their lives had been turned upside-down by a movement called _Terra Prime_. The movement had created a cloned child, a combination of his and T'Pol's DNA. When the infant, named Elizabeth, died, that also effectively killed whatever was left of that relationship, along with any slender hopes for reconciliation.

It was, perhaps, for the best, as the Romulan War had intervened. The _Enterprise_ had been called away to fight, and some of the battles had been truly nasty. The Armory Officer, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, had been particularly affected, and had suffered some shell shock. In some ways he was lucky, as there were crew members who had made the ultimate sacrifice. And now Reed was on a charming little planet called Lafa II. Reed's recovery had been facilitated by his great love, and she was expecting their son. The boy was scheduled to be born via Cesarean, on Halloween itself. Reed was gone to that planet and would be out for a while and then back again afterwards, for a few years of paternity leave.

The captain, Jonathan Archer, was affected by the Romulan War but not overly so. Without a love to help him recover, he had taken to studying laws and legislation and diplomacy. Others had coped in their own ways. Charles – Tripp to his friends – had retreated into the fiction of horror films.

=/\=

"You think we'll get a crowd tonight?" he asked Chip as the latter, a tall Communications Ensign, stood in front of him at the lunch chow line.

"I dunno. That film's pretty nasty in terms of frights. I am thinking the ladies might not like it." He eyed the new Science Ensign, Lucy Stone, when he said that. She looked back for just a second, brown eyes flashing, before she got a seat with the Botanist, Shelby Pike. The two women looked again and then pretended to study their lunches.

"I said, '_Maybe some honey'll wanna be protected from the big, bad celluloid horrors'_," Tucker reiterated. "Sheesh, Masterson, you'd think you'd never seen a woman before."

"Listen," Chip said, "I figure it has to do with the end of the war a few years ago. It's finally sinking in with all of us that things are kinda safe. I guess it's instinct and we're all looking to, I dunno, pair bond."

"Well, you have already pair bonded with Deb Haddon, who's liable to deck ya if you get too chummy with anyone else," Tucker said. "And I think Miller's got the eye for Stoney anyway."

Andrew Miller ran the Bio Lab. He approached the table with Shelby and Lucy and seemed to be chatting both of them up. As for Deb Haddon – a Security Ensign – she came over and dug a finger in Chip's ribs. "Can I cut the line?" she asked, smiling at him. She was pregnant, and they had recently married.

"Uh, sure," he said.

"Why do ya always give in so easily?" she asked him.

"'Cause you're trained to kill me in, like, I dunno, at least seventeen different ways."

"Eighteen if you count a heart attack at Movie Night. Say, why _are_ you picking so much horror lately?" she asked.

"It's not me; it's Commander Tucker."

"_Really_?" she asked, turning to Tripp. "You got something against films that, I dunno, don't scare the crap outta ya? You don't want me to give birth after Scene Two, do ya?"

"I like horror," he explained as they got close to the food. "It's a misunderstood genre. Uh, light on the potatoes, and maybe extra spinach, please," he told the server, Brian Delacroix.

"Sure," replied the Food Service Ensign. "Breast or thigh?"

"I'm a leg man m'self," Tucker said. Much like Masterson, he eyed the women a bit, too. Nearby, there was Amanda Cole, a MACO Corporal, with Julie McKenzie, another Corporal.

"Uh, Commander? Bring your plate back here so I can fill it."

"Oh, uh, sure, sorry 'bout that, Del."

"No prob. Light potatoes, heavy spinach, two drumsticks. Make sure to take a roll. You want gravy?"

=/\=

Captain Archer had called a meeting of the senior staff for that afternoon. Commander Tucker came, of course, and made sure to not sit near Hoshi or T'Pol. Too awkward. The pilot, Travis Mayweather, was a safe selection for an adjacent seat. On the other side was Malcolm's fill-in at Tactical, Ensign Aidan MacKenzie – no relation to Julie. Rounding out the meeting were Doctor Phlox, a Denobulan, and the head of the MACO contingent, Major Strong Bear Dawson. "We're getting close to putting this ship in mothballs," began the captain, "so I'd like for everyone to start putting together a report about your own departments. Write about what worked, and what didn't. I'm not looking for finger-pointing. It's more like, once the _NX-01_ is done, there will be a new ship. Admiral Gardner has told me it's going to be named for Zefram Cochrane. It'll have the same speed as the _NX-01_, but it should have a few different tricks up its proverbial sleeve. And it would help if that ship could leave space dock better prepared than we were."

"Aren't you going to be on that new ship?" asked Hoshi.

"I am," Jonathan confirmed, "but I want to hear from you whatever you think ran like a top, and what stank up the place. Engineering," he looked at Tucker when he said that, "can only do so much."

"Hey, I just work with what I got," the engineer said.

"Shouldn't the heads of the sub-departments make the same recommendations?" T'Pol inquired. "Ensign Miller and Ensign Pike should forward their observations about their responsible areas within the Science Division. Ensign Stone could provide a fresher perspective as well."

"Good idea," encouraged the captain, "so Commander, get input from José Torres about the transporter, and from Colin Myles or Emily Andreiou about the warp containment field."

"Aye, Cap'n," said the engineer.

"Should I contact Lieutenant Reed?" Aidan asked.

"No," said Captain Archer, "I get the feeling he's not thinking too much about work right now. What's the time difference there?"

"Four hours earlier," Hoshi said, checking a PADD. "I'm thinking Lili is having the baby right about now."

The captain smiled. "Let me know if you get a report. So, uh, Aidan, your observations will be fine. Talk to Ethan Shapiro and Tristan Curtis about the Armory and Security, and Cecily Romano if you need information on Tactical targeting."

"Yes, sir."

"Major Dawson?" asked the captain.

"Sir?"

"I think Julie McKenzie and Amanda Cole can help the most."

"Right," said Dawson, "I was kinda counting on that. Plus there are reports from Hayes before he died."

"Right," said the captain. "Travis, get input from Shari Jeffers about stellar cartography. And have Felicity Reese help with piloting issues."

"Yes, sir," said Travis.

"I'll work with Chip Masterson and Maryam Haroun," Hoshi volunteered.

"Right," said the captain, "Doc, I think you're on your own."

"I don't know," said the Denobulan. "I suspect the Derellian bat can provide some input," he joked.

"When is this all due?" Travis asked.

"January first. But I want you to get a jump on it. Look at logs, but also dig back into your memories. I want the _Cochrane_ to be excellent from the start. Oh, and Tripp?"

"Yeah, Cap'n?"

"You're in charge of the first cut of this. I'd like you to go over the draft reports before I get anything final. I don't need to impress upon you how important this is."

"Got it, sir."

"Dismissed."

=/\=

Movie Night was, again, sparsely attended. Whether that was due to the captain's orders to the senior staff, or the film's subject matter, it was hard to say. "C'mon!" Tripp exhorted Travis, "It's Halloween! If you can't watch a film called _Halloween_ on October thirty-first, then when the hell _can_ ya watch it?"

"I don't know. Look, I've got to get a jump on things. The captain didn't say anything about anyone joining him on the _Cochrane_. I figure this is a chance to impress."

"Impress? Travis, you've been the pilot of the _NX-01_ for how many years?"

"I know," said Travis, "but I've never been promoted. I'm just, I'm a little worried, is all."

"If it were up to me, you'd have nothin' to worry 'bout."

"Well, thanks, Tripp, but I still worry. I, uh, at my last leave, I met a girl, Ellen Warren. It's still kinda tentative. And I, you know, I need to have a good job and all that."

"Even if you don't get on the _Cochrane_ – and lemme tell ya, the cap'n would be a _fool_ not to take you – you'll do something for Starfleet, Travis. You'll impress Ellen even if, for some crazy reason, you don't impress Jonathan Archer."

"Uh, thanks. But I still want to do this. I don't get a chance to write much for work. I want to stretch myself, and show that I really can do it. You know what I mean? And you'll kick back anything that doesn't look good, right, and give me a chance to fix it before it goes to the captain?"

"Well, sure, Buddy. But it's –", he cut his own protest short when he saw that Travis meant business.

There were two _dings_, signifying PADD messages. They both fumbled for their PADDs. "Hey, Lili had the baby," Travis said, reading the message.

Tucker clicked to open the accompanying photograph. "Will ya look at that, the first parent on the _NX-01._ Well, the first _successful_ one," he said, thinking of Elizabeth for just a second. He shook off the melancholy and compartmentalized it, like he always seemed to. "The baby's got Lili's light coloring."

"And he's got Reed's cheekbones. Look at that; you could cut a diamond with those!"

"Yep. Declan Reed. Who'd've thunk it?"

"Look, I gotta go," Travis said. "That report won't write itself."

"Right," Tucker said, and he headed to Movie Night alone.

=/\=

"_I was working in the lab late one night  
When my eyes beheld an eerie sight  
For my monster from his slab began to rise  
And suddenly to my surprise_

He did the mash!"  


Bobby 'Boris' Pickett – The Monster Mash


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"_I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand_

_Walkin' through the streets of Soho in the rain_

_He was lookin' for the place called Lee Ho Fook's_

_Gonna get a big dish of beef chow mein"_

Warren Zevon – Werewolves of London

=/\=

Amanda Cole sat down and Tripp sat beside her. "This seat taken?" he asked. There were dozens of empty seats.

"Uh, now it is," she grinned at him. "You have homework, yanno."

"And so do you, Missy."

"Oh, yeah," she said, "but I am blowing," she hesitated for a second, "it off. Dawson can be a pain in the you know where."

"Erm," he said quietly, "maybe you need a massage?"

"I dunno," she said. "I get the feeling you're not licensed."

"I'll show you my license," he said and then they were shushed as the movie was about to start.

Chip walked to the front of the room. "It is the last All Hallows' Eve here on the _NX-01_. And so we are showing _Halloween_. There's really nothing highbrow to look for. But Donald Pleasance and Jamie Lee Curtis are in it and we've seen them a lot when we've had retro weeks. He was in _The Great Escape_ and _Ten Little Indians_. She was in_ Trading Places _and _A Fish Called Wanda_ – and that's just the films we've shown you. I'm not so sure this particular picture was on their resumes in later years. Roll it, Aidan!"

Tucker sat quietly and didn't make a play for Amanda – at least not to start. He decided to bide his time and wait until things got scary. The MACO Corporal, he knew, wasn't exactly going to be terrified even by a lot of on-screen gore, but she might be affected by the suspense. He was counting on that. He was certainly not thinking about reports or any degree of responsibility.

=/\=

In 2367, a very different scene was unfolding. "I'm glad you're all right," Wesley Crusher said to his mother, Doctor Beverly Crusher.

"Well, that warp bubble experiment ended up being pretty frightening. I felt like everyone and everything had been forgotten, and then I was being forgotten. I was stuck in my own universe." She shook her head. "I'd better go see to my guest. I'm just so relieved he exists again! Maybe, uh, Wesley, maybe don't perform another warp bubble experiment for a while, all right?"

"Okay, Mom." She departed.

Wesley looked at a display on a screen in front of him. "That's odd."

Chief Engineer Geordi LaForge was nearby. "What is?"

"Well, I'm not so sure what really happened to the warp bubble. The Traveler came, he helped me get Mom out of it, but now, well, see for yourself."

The engineer checked readings. "Huh. That _is_ strange, Wes. I mean, consider the fact that energy can be neither created nor destroyed. So where did the bubble actually go?"

"Yeah!" Wesley exclaimed. "I mean; I figure we have a few possibilities, right? One idea is maybe the bubble was converted to matter."

"If it was, we'd get a reading, though."

"Okay. And what about if it was pushed to, I dunno, another universe?"

"That's a little farfetched, don't you think?" asked the engineer.

"Well, we know about parallel universes. Didn't the _NCC-1701_ encounter one?"

"It did," Geordi admitted, "but that doesn't necessarily mean the bubble went there somehow."

"I know, but right now it's just a theory. Brainstorming mode, all right?" Wesley said. "Now, there's that but maybe there's other things going on."

"You mean like Q?"

"I don't think Q's involved with this. If he was, I think the Traveler would've mentioned him."

"Then the Traveler," Geordi said. "I mean, he did help you get your mother back."

"I dunno," Wesley said. "It seems like it was just lost. And one impression I get about the Traveler is that he isn't careless."

"That may be so, but he can – we think – control space and time with his thoughts. Or at least it appears that way," Geordi pointed out.

"I don't think it's anything malicious."

"I don't either, but that warp bubble isn't exactly the most stable thing out there," Geordi said. He tapped the communications badge on his uniform top. "LaForge to Data. Can you come to Engineering? We have a bit of a puzzle here."

The android arrived quickly. "What seems to be the trouble?" he inquired.

They explained the situation as best they could. "I believe you are correct that the energy has not simply vanished. And readings indicate that it was neither converted to matter nor was it dissipated. Now," he thought for a moment, "the Traveler apparently can control both space _and_ time?"

"That's what we believe," Wesley said.

"Then perhaps the bubble has moved both spatially and temporally," offered the android.

"It went forward in time?" asked Geordi.

"Or backward. The future is, at least from our own perspective, as-yet unwritten. But the past can be known," Data replied.

"And it can be checked," Wesley said, "we could check historical records."

"For what, Wes?" asked Geordi.

"I dunno, maybe indications that something strange is going on."

"That is a rather broad subject," said the android.

"I know," said Wesley, "but I get the feeling that I need to figure this out. We were able to fix the problem. But people on, I dunno, the _Cochrane_ or earlier, they wouldn't know what to do."

"Go back far enough," Geordi cautioned, "and people will think it's the work of a god."

"Let's hope, if it did go back in time, it wasn't quite _that_ far," Wesley said, sighing.

=/\=

"_There's a crack in the mirror  
And a bloodstain on the bed -  
There's a crack in the mirror  
And a bloodstain on the bed -  
O you were a vampire and baby  
I'm walking dead  
O you were a vampire and baby  
I'm walking dead"_

Concrete Blonde – Bloodletting


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"_Halloween in Tijuana__  
Full moon in my eyes__  
I wonder how in the hell I got here__  
Without a disguise_

_Should I take this last step_

_Or turn myself around  
Or follow my intuition into that border town"_

Jimmy Buffet – Desperation Samba (Halloween in Tijuana)

=/\=

Tucker was dozing off a bit, despite the mayhem on screen and the _oh_ so close presence of one Corporal Amanda Cole. He'd seen the film _how_ many times? For some reason, it seemed to be dull to him. "You know," Doctor Phlox said, munching on popcorn, "this is a most interesting phenomenon."

"It's a pretty lousy picture," complained Cole. The doctor was sitting right behind her and offered her the bowl, which she politely declined.

"What I mean is, consider the Romulan War. Or even the Xindi War, or back to your Eugenics Wars, even. War has become a tad sterile. Perhaps it's a little bit easy. I've read some of your history."

"I wonder what would happen if war stopped being, you know, awful," Amanda said. "It is supposed to be stupid and brutal and savage. It's not supposed to be easy."

"Precisely," said the Denobulan. He looked around. "I apologize if our talking is detracting from anyone's enjoyment of the picture."

"Oh, don't worry," Chip said, "half the audience is gone and most of them weren't paying attention anyway. You were saying, Doc?"

"It's just that I was speculating about the role of the horror film or other forms of grotesque or painful art. Is it, perhaps, a substitute for the real feelings engendered during wartime?" asked Phlox.

"I dunno, Doc," Tucker said, yawning a little.

"You asked for this picture and _you're_ bored by it?" Aidan asked. "That's kinda bad, don't ya think?"

"No problem," Tripp said, "I'm –"

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence as he suddenly vanished. "_What the hell_?" Chip exclaimed. "Did you all see what I just saw?"

"Yeah," Amanda said, "holy cow."

Aidan was already slapping a wall communicator. "_Security_!" he yelled, "We got a major league problem here!"

=/\=

Commander Charles Tucker didn't feel a thing. At one moment, he was sitting and talking to his friends as the film played in the background. In the next, he was lying face down on something. It was semi-soft and a bit uneven. He was a little warm. And there was an aroma. _What was it, exactly?_ It was a bit foul.

"_McBride_!" someone yelled, and the aroma got stronger as he felt he was, maybe, awakening.

_That's a strange name_; Tucker thought to himself, _my mother's maiden name is McBride_.

"Get your keister up already!" The aroma got even stronger. Tucker cautiously opened one eye and saw the cause of the aroma. Some guy was waving a dirty old green sock in his face.

"What the hell?" he asked, sitting bolt upright.

There was laughter. "Sheesh, _Florida_, you were the one who asked for the wakeup call! _Mister Soon-To-Be-PFC_! _Private First Class McBride!_ First class chump, he must mean." some other guy said.

Tripp realized he was outside, and on the ground. "Where, where am I?"

"McBride, that gag ain't funny no more. You are in freakin' Upper Bavaria, just like you were yesterday and the day before and all of April," explained the guy with the dirty sock, who then produced the other one and made a face at it in disgust.

"Upper Ba-Bavaria? April?"

"Get a load o' this joker. Look, McBride, you gotta get your keister up. We are going on a long march today so get those smelly socks and your boots on so's we can start up the wagon train."

"What?" The socks were thrown at him and he only caught one. Then a boot sailed over and it clonked him in the gut. "_Hey_!"

"C'mon, McBride!" scolded the second fellow, "You're the slowest private I done ever seen. And Sarge is gonna give you a hard time if he catches you napping. Hell, he'll give us _all_ a hard time. And I ain't takin' it from him again on account o' _you_. _Understand_?"

"Uh, yeah," Tucker said. He put on one of the socks. "Don't I have any clean ones?"

"Not unless you can get some Bavarian _fräulein_ to do your laundry. I swear, McBride, you are the laziest soldier I know. Why'd you volunteer, anyway? And why are ya tryin' to get promoted?"

"Uh, um, it seemed like a good idea at the time." Tucker swallowed hard, trying to take in his surroundings. His bearings were all … off. There were a few dozen guys, all in green fatigues. No one was decorated in any manner so they were likely all of the same rank. Names around were of various nationalities, like O'Shaughnessy and Shapiro and Martinelli. But he didn't see any African or Asian faces, and there were no women.

The area – Upper Bavaria– was a cold, forested place. It was a little damp, but it seemed like the early morning. Perhaps that was dew. Someone had said it was April. Maybe it was still springtime. He put on the dirty socks and boots and checked the name tag on the front of his uni. Sure enough, it said _McBride_. "That makes no sense," he murmured quietly to himself.

"What?" asked Shapiro, who was nearby. The guy had something on his face which was jointed and seemed to be made of metal.

"What is that on your face?" Tripp asked.

"What?"

"Your, uh, you know, the metal?" He gestured a bit.

"McBride that ain't funny. Don't make fun of my glasses," Shapiro said. He stood up and walked over to where there was a chow line forming. The smell of coffee began to permeate the air.

"Chow lines is chow lines," Tucker said to himself, getting up. He felt stiff and achy, like he'd been sleeping on the ground for a while. He noticed that the sleeping bag he'd been in was flat on the ground, but he had no memory of how long he'd been in it. He stared at it for a second; trying to figure out if he really had slept there at all.

O'Shaughnessy came over. "You better pack up that bedroll before Sarge sees, McBride."

"Uh, right, yeah." Tripp started folding it.

"C'mon!" said one of the other guys – the name _Kuzawa_ was on his uniform, but the fellow didn't look Asian. He looked Greek, maybe. "You roll it up, McBride! C'mon, we are gonna get in Dutch with Sarge if you can't get your act in gear. Maybe knock some sense into him, Brendan," he said to O'Shaughnessy, who shrugged.

"Oh, uh, yeah," Tucker said absently. He rolled up the sleeping bag and found a small length of rope. He tied the bedroll securely with the rope and saw a pack nearby. Fortunately, there was a pair of shorts sticking out of it – as dirty as the socks. But a name tag had been neatly sewn into the waistband and it said _Charles McBride_.

He rummaged around a little in the pack. There was a pack of cigarettes – _Lucky Strikes_ – open and three-quarters full. There was a Zippo lighter. There were a couple of chocolate bars, a little bit melted but intact. There were two more pairs of socks but they were as dirty as the ones he had on. There were a few more pairs of boxer shorts. One had a pattern of little hearts all over it. He felt himself flushing and quickly stuffed that pair to the bottom of the pack.

He dug around a little bit more and found a bundle of letters, tied with string. Most of the letters were postmarked from Tallahassee, with a few postmarked from Atlanta. The ones from Atlanta had McBride's APO address, _AE 09327,_ like all the others did, but those were written by a delicate feminine hand. He plucked out the top one in the stack. It was postmarked _January seventeenth, 1945_. He read it to himself.

_Dear Chuck,_

_Clifford asked me to marry him and I said yes. I'm sorry, but it's over between us. I hope you can understand._

_Your friend,_

_Helen_

"_Dear_ _John_ letters is _Dear John_ letters," he muttered to himself, "just like Natalie from Pensacola, I swear."

"Huh?" asked O'Shaughnessy. "Hey, you better grab some grub. I hear we're gonna go on a long march today."

"Oh, uh, yeah," Tucker said, stuffing Helen's letter into the McBride pack and heading for the Forty-Second Infantry Division's chow line.

=/\=

On the _Enterprise_, T'Pol and Aidan took numerous scans. "He was here, and then he suddenly wasn't," Aidan said.

"Did the Commander appear to be in any distress?" she asked.

"Not that I could tell. He was even cut off in mid-sentence, so it's not like he had any warning or anything. Although I guess you can't really get notice for this sort of thing," mused the Tactical Ensign.

"That is unlikely." The Vulcan eyebrow arched up a degree. "Have you any theories about Commander Tucker's disappearance?"

"None," Aidan MacKenzie admitted. "But I'm not the scientist."

Science Crewman Diana Jones had also been scanning and she came over to where they were standing. "I don't have much," she said, "but it looks like an energy surge of some sort."

"Precisely," answered T'Pol, "let us continue checking."

"What do you think the Commander's condition is?" asked Diana as she worked.

"It is impossible to say," replied the Vulcan.

"Could he be dead?" asked Aidan, "I mean; if this is a weapon, it's like nothing I've ever seen before."

"Maybe he was beamed out," Diana offered.

"Not by anybody we know, or any _way_ that we know how," Aidan replied.

"It is useless to speculate," replied the Vulcan. There was a communications chirp, and she answered it.

"Find anything yet?" asked Captain Archer.

"Nothing as of yet," replied T'Pol.

"It's been a full day. November the first already," said Jonathan, "and I have contacted the Vulcan High Command, but they claim they have never heard of such a thing. There were no Klingon or Romulan or Xindi vessels anywhere nearby, so it's doubtful that it was any of them."

"All we currently know is that there was an energy surge," T'Pol reported.

"Well," he sighed, "keep me informed. Archer out."

=/\=

In 2367, Geordi, Wesley and Data continued to work on their own problem. "I have gone over all of the computer logs from the time when the static warp bubble was in effect," Data stated, "and there was a small power surge when the bubble discharged Doctor Crusher. After that, the phenomenon appears to have vanished without a trace."

"But it can't be completely gone," said the engineer, "there has got to be something out there."

"I wonder if the theory about it going back in time can hold water," mused Wesley.

"But we've gone back and checked the records of the _NCC-1701_ and other ships from the twenty-third century, and we found nothing," Geordi said.

"Then perhaps we should go back further, to the time of the _NX-01_," Data suggested.

=/\=

The march was, as promised, long.

He was about ready to crawl back into McBride's sleeping bag, dirty socks be damned, though it was only the late afternoon. But it was obvious that they had reached their destination.

There was a huge stone concrete gate with a sign that said _Arbeit macht frei_. The symbol at the top was familiar. "Oh, God," he said, "it's a swastika." It was Dachau.

Shapiro, O'Shaughnessy, Martinelli and the others all stared, too. "It smells like burning skin," Martinelli said, holding his nose.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," Tucker said, as a lot of it came flooding back to his memory.

"You know what that is," O'Shaughnessy said. "How can you know what that is? Ain't nobody seen inside any of these camps, right?"

"No, that's not true," Shapiro said, "I got a letter from my mother. She saw on the newsreel when Auschwitz was liberated, back in January."

"But we just got the mail from January!" Martinelli exclaimed, "And everything's all censored anyway. What did you get that we didn't?"

"Nothing much, Tony," Shapiro said, "But we had heard rumors, you know? I got a cousin who got out in '37 and he said he heard they was burning bodies in these places. My mother just wrote that it was, it was confirmed, y'see. _Arbeit macht frei_. I bet that's a big old Nazi laugh."

"What does that mean?" asked O'Shaughnessy.

"It means _work will set you free_," Tucker said. "But it didn't. Oh, God. I cannot believe I am here. I, I'm not supposed to be here."

"Nobody is supposed to be here," Martinelli said.

Kuzawa came over. "What's that smell?"

"You don't wanna know," Tripp said.

"Hey, they're starting to go in," O'Shaughnessy said, standing on tiptoes and looking ahead.

"God," Tucker said, "I, man, I _really_ shouldn't be here." His face was pained.

"What's a matter, Chuck?" Shapiro asked, falling in step next to him.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Uh, sure."

"I woke up and I was in, well, I guess this is 1945, see?"

"Yeah, it's 1945. It's April the twenty-ninth. You know this, Chuck," Shapiro insisted.

"No I, I don't," Tucker admitted, "Listen to me, Shapiro. I was in another, another place and another time before today. And now I'm here. I gotta get outta here, man."

Shapiro stopped walking for a second and drew Tucker to the side as the other troops marched into the camp. His Brooklyn accent became more pronounced as the man got more agitated and insistent. "Listen to me, _Florida_. I know it smells and it's terrible but I am going in there because _my_ people are in there. I don't give a damn about orders or anything like that. But it is my kin who are in there. I am gonna go in there, and I am gonna see whatever is in there. No matter what it is. But you better go in with me, McBride. You don't get to sit this one out. _Get it_?"

Tripp looked into the man's eyes. "Life is gonna get better. The, the world isn't always gonna be like this. I can't tell you how I know. But I do know that much, Shapiro."

"C'mon, Chuck. You wanna be a Private First Class? Then you gotta face stuff just like this, and not flinch. So let's go in there."

=/\=

There were bodies.

There was a train filled with them, as if they had been shipped in, at the last minute.

There were the smells. Those were unrelenting, palpable, almost as if they had lives of their own.

There were clothes scattered around.

And then they saw the people.

Shapiro and Tucker found Martinelli, Kuzawa and O'Shaughnessy, and the five of them walked together. It was apparently the women's side of things. Dozens of pinched faces stared at them, the women mainly bald or almost bald, their eyes deep set in their sockets. They were all wearing dirty striped uniforms that hung on their bodies like sacks.

Two came over, with a third. The first two seemed younger, somehow, but it was so difficult to tell. Like all of the other women, they were naught but skin and bones. One of them spoke a harsh, guttural language. "Wait, I know this," Shapiro said, "It's Yiddish, but her accent is weird. Maybe it's Czech, or Polish, or something." He thought for a moment and said something back. The woman gestured at the other one who seemed to be young, and then at the one who seemed to be older.

"What's she saying, Herbie?" asked O'Shaughnessy.

"Uh, she says her name is Milena Chelenska, and her sister here is Noemy."

"And the old lady?" asked Martinelli. Milena moved her arm and Tucker could clearly see a tattooed number – _4142753_.

Shapiro said something to Milena and she answered him. "She says that's Mrs. Klinghofer, who was a neighbor of theirs in the old Prague Jewish ghetto."

"How old are these girls?" Kuzawa asked.

Shapiro spoke with Milena a bit more. "She says she's, uh, she's only sixteen. Her sister is fourteen years old, Stan."

"And their parents?" Martinelli inquired.

Shapiro asked and Noemy and Milena just looked down. "I am thinking they didn't make it. I think I better not ask for any specifics."

"Right," Tucker said. He remembered the pack. "I got candy bars. You fellas got anything?"

"Yeah, I do," O'Shaughnessy said, taking his own pack off. They all followed suit as Tucker fumbled around and produced his chocolate bars.

An Army medic came over as the others took out their candy bars and were about to give them to the women. "Be careful," said the medic.

"Why? They're starving, ain't they?" asked Kuzawa.

"It's called _Refeeding Syndrome_. You can make them really sick. We need to carefully reintroduce them all to food. So put those back. I know you mean well, but you can't give those chocolate bars to them."

Shapiro quickly translated as well as he could. Disappointed, Milena and Noemy looked at him with saddened eyes but they also touched his arm. Then they touched the other men on their arms, a kind of a show of affection and gratitude. "_A sheynem dank_." Milena said. There was no translation necessary – it obviously meant _thank you_.

There was a rumbling behind, and they could smell exhaust. "The trucks are here," Martinelli said.

As light as feathers, the three women were hoisted on board and driven away to a Red Cross hospital, along with any other living women who could be found.

Once the last of the trucks had departed, Martinelli turned to the others and said, "Something's not right. It feels like things just changed, big time. And not for the better."

They turned to Tripp, looking to him to; perhaps, lead them a bit, as their purpose had become unclear. Tucker struggled to remember what had happened there. He had the plots of every horror movie known to man in his memory, but nothing on the history of the liberation of the Dachau concentration camp. "I, I dunno what's gonna happen, or what we really should be doin'," he said, "but I think you're right. Somethin's off."

=/\=

"_When I hear this melody_

_This strange illusion takes over me_

_Through a tunnel of the mind_

_Perhaps a present or future time oh, oh_

_Out of nowhere comes this sound_

_This melody that keeps spinning 'round & 'round_

_Pyramidal locomotion_

_From a mystic unknown zone__  
__hearin' the twilight_

_Hearin' the twilight tone"_

Manhattan Transfer – Twilight Zone


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"_Somewhere in a lonely hotel room  
There's a guy starting to realize  
That eternal fate has turned its back on him  
It's two a.m._

_It's two a.m. the fear has gone_  
_I'm sitting here waitin' the gun still warm_  
_Maybe my connection is tired of taken chances_  
_Yeah there's a storm on the loose sirens in my head_  
_I'm wrapped up in silence all circuits are dead_  
_I cannot decode_  
_My whole life spins into a frenzy_

_Help I'm steppin' into the twilight zone  
This is a madhouse  
Feels like being cloned  
My beacon's been moved under moon and star_

_Where am I to go  
Now that I've gone too far?_

_Help I'm steppin' into the twilight zone  
This is a madhouse  
Feels like being cloned  
My beacon's been moved under moon and star_

_Where am I to go  
Now that I've gone too far?_

_Soon you will come to know  
When the bullet hits the bone  
Soon you will come to know  
When the bullet hits the bone"_

Golden Earring – Twilight Zone

=/\=

"Any more ideas?" asked Geordi.

"I don't know," Wesley admitted.

"Perhaps contacting this Traveler would be a fruitful exercise," Data offered.

"I'm not really sure how to contact him. He just kind of appears, it seems," said Wes.

"But he was here before," Geordi stated.

"But Mom was in real danger," Wes said, "and it was of my own doing and not something external, like, like the Federation-Cardassian War."

"Well, you didn't mean it," Geordi said.

"True. But I still get the feeling this is something I'm supposed to figure out on my own," replied the younger man.

"Then let us continue to search through historical records. I believe we were going to look at the records of the _NX-02 Columbia_ next," stated the android.

=/\=

In Dachau, the five of them stood together, a little unsure of what to do with themselves. They saw Nazi guards being led out and roughly handled. "Hey, Sarge!" O'Shaughnessy yelled, "Whadda we do until the trucks get back?"

Sergeant McCoy gave him a look but continued on his way. He was pushing a young German guard in front of him and frowning. "I wonder what that was all about," Martinelli said.

"I dunno," replied Shapiro, "but I got a funny feeling about all of this. I mean, those men are supposed to be arrested, right?"

"Right," Kuzawa said, "but I don't see nothing that looks like no arrest or nothin'."

They waited a little longer and then heard shots. "That's coming from the direction Sarge went in!" yelled Martinelli.

With nothing else to do, Tucker followed the other four as they ran toward the sounds of gunfire.

=/\=

On the _NX-01_, José Torres stared at the display on the warp engine. "This is not exactly how I wanted to be promoted and get some supervisory experience," he mused.

"Huh?" asked Mara Brodsky, who was standing nearby and monitoring levels in the warp containment field.

"Uh, nothing. I just wish Commander Tucker were here. Hey, Kate, Meredith?" Crewman Shelton and Crewman Porter turned around. "Help me with this, okay? We all gotta pull together with Tucker out."

They checked the levels together. "When do you think he'll be back?" asked Meredith.

"I dunno," said José, "Yanno, it's funny. It's November first. My ole Portuguese Catholic mother used to celebrate it."

"Celebrate what?" asked Kate.

"_The Day of the Dead."_

=/\=

They ran over toward the sounds of the gunfire. And that's when they saw.

There were squat, concrete buildings – Bauhaus style if any of them had known such a thing, and they didn't – and there was already a small pile of uniformed male bodies. There was a spattered stain of blood on one of the walls, and more men were being herded to where the blood and the bodies were. "What's the hell's going on?" yelled Kuzawa.

"Sarge!" called out Martinelli. McCoy turned briefly. "Sarge, what're you doin'?"

McCoy ignored him and shouldered a rifle. He and six other men stood in front of a set of five Nazi guards. Some of the guards were young, as if the Third Reich had run out of grown men to guard and run Dachau in the waning days of the war, and had instead plucked from its youth. _Hitler Youth_. "_Ready_!" came a voice. "_Aim_!" A pause. "_Fire_!"

The five Nazi guards, who had, it seemed, not seen their twentieth birthdays yet, crumpled as one as more shots rang out.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," Tripp said. He could hear, next to him, O'Shaughnessy heaving.

Shapiro stood there, trembling. "I, I know it, it serves 'em right. But, God, it's, this is, it's a war crime, ain't it?"

"Keep your voice down," Kuzawa cautioned him. "That's Sarge there."

"It don't mean this is right," Martinelli said.

"I don't wanna, I, I shouldn't be here," Tucker again said.

"But you _are_," insisted Shapiro. "If you ever wanna get promoted, you gotta, you know, you gotta take it, _Florida_. You don't get to sit this one out."

"Fellas," Tripp said, shepherding them over to a side, "I don't know how to explain this. And this, this feller McBride? He seems like he's some sort of a joker. So I wouldn't blame you if you didn't believe me."

"Believe what, _Florida_?" asked Kuzawa.

"Believe that before I woke up, I was somewhere else. And it was, God, I'm not even named McBride. I am Charles Tucker III. I am an engineer. And I'm a commander on the _USS Enterprise_."

"We ain't nowhere near an ocean, McBride," said O'Shaughnessy.

""I wasn't on an ocean," Tripp said.

"You is cuckoo," Kuzawa concluded. "He's cuckoo, right? And maybe it's from what we done seen here today. But he's talkin' loony."

Martinelli looked at Tucker closely. "It's 'cause of that _Dear John_ letter from your girl, right? It ain't right what she did – they just don't understand what we do here, yanno what I mean? But there's other girls. Even for an ugly mug like you, McBride."

"I don't belong here," Tripp repeated, as another volley of shots rang out and they all flinched.

"Where do you _think_ you belong?" Kuzawa asked. O'Shaughnessy gave him a look, so he added, "I'm playin' along. That's what they say you're s'posed to do with a loon, see?"

"I am," Tucker explained, peeved, "supposed to be on the _Enterprise_. I don't know how or why I got here, but I gotta try to find a way to get back. And I could use your help."

"And us help youse go AWOL?" Kuzawa asked. "I don't think so, Bub."

There was another volley. "I'm telling you, I don't belong here," Tripp insisted.

Shapiro turned to him. "Listen to me, and you better listen good. I don't care. I don't. I do not care. Today, you are here. And you are now. You saddle up and you ride with us today, _Florida_."

"But I don't even know why I'm here. I was watchin' the 1978 _Halloween_ movie."

"Over thirty years from now?" asked Martinelli. "Man, oh, man, you are messed up."

"Whatever you're tryin', McBride," Shapiro said, "I don't wanna hear it. No more, ya hear me? You wanna know why those girls, Noemy and Milena, you wanna know why their eyes were so big? It's not just on account that they been starving. It's 'cause they are witnesses. And that is what we are today. We are witnesses. You, me and, and Brendan, Tony, Stan, _ever'body._ We are witnesses to what them Nazis did. And we are witnesses to, to what Sarge is doin', and them others. We, we know it's wrong," he whispered, and it was hard to hear him over the din of shots and tramping feet and screaming, dying youth and spent shell casings hitting the ground.

"Yet we allow it," said Tucker.

"No," Martinelli said, "we gotta follow orders. We can't be protestin' too much. We gotta do what Sarge says, right?"

"And those kids?" O'Shaughnessy asked, "Did they have to do what their, their version of Sarge said to do? And they are just, they are gettin' gunned down today 'cause, uh, 'cause they couldn't refuse an order? Is that it?"

"Our orders is different," Kuzawa said.

"But the result, ain't it the same?" asked Martinelli. "Herbie, whadda you think?"

Shapiro took off his glasses and wiped his brow with a ratty old handkerchief. "I dunno what to think anymore. I used to think I knew what right and wrong were, yanno? But it don't seem like the lines are so, so sharp between 'em anymore. Know what I'm sayin'? It's, it's a horror. But it ain't no _Frankenstein_ picture. It's, it's so much worse. It's, God, it _is_ witnessing. I don't know if my life's got a purpose. Maybe this is my purpose. Maybe it's that I'm the guy who can say he was there. _I saw it. It was real. Them stories you're hearing, if you don't believe 'em, well, I can't make you believe nothin', but I know because I was there_. And you was, and you, and you, too, McBride, no matter how much of a jerk you can be, you's here, too. You can't deny that."

There was another volley. Tucker looked up. "I, uh, I dunno. Maybe this is, maybe it's my purpose, too. And I'm sorry. I dunno why I was saying what I was. Maybe to be the witness, maybe you're right. Maybe that's the reason behind all of this. War is, it shouldn't be easy. It should not be sterile, and clean, and remote. It shouldn't be buttons pushed, and, and faraway explosions. Because then, like, like a horror movie, we might start to think it's unreal. But, it, it _is_ real. And when we forget that, when we are able to, kinda, like, set all of our bad experiences aside, and pretend like somehow they're not terrible, we should, we should remember this day. And we should recognize that fictional horrors are no substitute for the real thing. And we, we shouldn't be getting any pleasure out of simulations of violence and mayhem."

"There's always somebody who'll be a widow, or an orphan," Martinelli said, "Those kids, I'm not sayin' they're innocent. I mean, they did stuff. I'm sure they did! But tonight, or tomorrow, or somethin' like that, their mothers are gonna realize that they ain't comin' home no more."

"And what about all the people who were kept in here?" Shapiro asked. "Those two teenaged girls, they gotta go home, somehow, and live. How are they gonna trust their neighbors? How are they gonna be able to, to have a home? They ain't got parents. They ain't got husbands. That old lady with 'em, I don't think she was no relation. What're their lives gonna be like?"

"That's why there's war brides," Kuzawa said, "You shoulda chatted 'em up, McBride. Nice young girls, maybe too young, but you bring 'em to the states, and they learn English, and they get jobs like, like secretaries or somethin'. Or they marry some guy like, like Herbie here."

"I got me a girl," Herbie said, "But I know what you mean. It ain't even for love. It's for human decency. To take them girls, and people like 'em, away from here. They ain't never gonna forget. But maybe they can have new memories. Good ones, yanno?"

Martinelli looked over. "I think Sarge is, I think he's done. He's comin' over here. Act natural."

=/\=

"I have found an interesting log entry," said Data.

"Oh?" asked Geordi.

"There is an entry from one Tactical Ensign Aidan MacKenzie, of the _NX-01_. It is dated _November the first of 2161._ It states, '_T'Pol and I scanned the Movie Room for Commander Tucker, and we could not find him. We can't figure out what happened. No one wants to bother Lieutenant Reed while he's away for the birth of his son, but maybe we should. If the Romulans have some sort of new transporter technology, then it'll be a major tactical issue_.' And that is all."

"Let's look at all logs, sensor readings, anything we can get from the old _NX-01_ that covers, I dunno, a few days before and a few afterwards," Geordi suggested.

"You know a lot of those records are gone," Wesley pointed out.

"That is true," replied the android, "The chances of locating complete _NX-01_ records are less than fourteen percent."

"Are there any other records from this MacKenzie guy?" asked Geordi.

"Starfleet personnel records state," said Data, "that he was promoted to Lieutenant on the next ship, the _USS Zefram Cochrane_ and then he worked for one Captain Malcolm Reed as a full Commander on a ship called the _USS Bluebird_. MacKenzie rose to the rank of Captain of the _Bluebird_ and retired at that rank. I cannot locate any other log entries or information."

"What about from this T'Pol? I take it that's a Vulcan woman," Geordi stated.

"Maybe there are Vulcan records," Wesley said. He began clicking around on a computer console.

All three of them silently worked. "It's a pity those old records aren't available," Geordi sighed.

"The _NX-01_'s records were compromised less than fifty years after that ship was retired," Data stated. "There are holographic simulations and there are speculations about what happened. There are even some books about some of the crew. But most of the actual records are not retrievable at this time."

Wesley looked up. "I might have something."

"Oh?" asked Geordi. "Let's hear it."

"It's not from T'Pol. It's from a descendant. Apparently this descendant was familiar with the _NCC-1701_. That ship encountered a species called the Eminians." Wesley read off a screen.

"Who are the Eminians?" Geordi inquired.

"Their planet is in the _NGC 321_ star cluster," Data replied. "On star date _3192.1_, Captain James T. Kirk and the _NCC-1701_ encountered the Eminians, and learned they had been fighting a centuries-long war with computers. Casualties were precisely calculated in the campaign. The inhabitants, evidently, went willingly to their own deaths."

"That's insane," Wesley said, aghast.

"Why would anyone do that?" Geordi asked.

"It was," the android read off a screen, "seen as preferable to the waging of an all-out, real war. The _Enterprise_ destroyed the war computers and the Eminians were convinced to sue for peace."

"How is this related, I wonder," speculated the engineer.

Wesley clicked around some more. "I think I found it. It says, '_Foremother T'Pol has begun confiding things to me in her dotage. One was of a human she knew when she was young. They had a bond, and that did not seem possible. This human spoke to her of his emotions – fears and desires. We received word that a human ship had encountered a species, the Eminians, who played at war and made it sterile and unfeeling and almost comfortable. When I spoke to Foremother T'Pol about this, she stated that, when he was gone for a few days in 2161, the human Charles Tucker told her that he had been out to a real war and had come to realize that, as a species, humans were becoming too remote from it. The human stated that war was becoming too easy and had lost many of its horrors. He admitted that he had substituted false horrors from art – Foremother T'Pol referred to it as something called 'horror movies'. But after his return, Commander Tucker ceased watching said films up until his death. He confided to Foremother T'Pol that cinematic horror was nothing compared to the real thing, and that he felt compelled to bear witness to the realities of conflict. Foremother T'Pol did not have details or perhaps did not remember them, but she stated that the Commander's confession was troubling and that his brief absence affected him very deeply. She was reminded of this when we discussed the Eminians, and she_ _stated that the reaction of Captain Kirk and his crew was to be expected from humans. While it was an emotional reaction, she indicated that it was not to be dismissed as inferior and, in particular, that this was_ _one of the many things that we could learn from humans._' And that's all it says; the remainder is marked _confidential_ by the Vulcan government."

"So this Tucker is – _maybe_ – abducted or something and he witnesses what he refers to as a _real war_," Geordi said. "Data, do you think that our missing warp bubble could have been responsible for bringing him to whatever real war he was talking about?"

"And now we've got the Federation-Cardassian War going on," Wesley mused.

"At least it seems to be ending," Geordi pointed out.

"True," stated the android, "but it has been waged for a while. It is a century after the Eminians ended their conflict. Yet conflicts continue. Philosophically speaking, perhaps we should be questioning why violence persists in human society."

Wesley looked up. "I, I think this is what I was supposed to figure out. It's not about the warp bubble so much as it is about war itself. It's far away, but that doesn't make it any less real. I shouldn't have to be right in the thick of it to be, to be affected by it. And here I am, conducting experiments and all when there's so much suffering going on."

"It's not like you can do too much about it where we are, Wes," Geordi said understandingly. "You can't fix that problem."

"But forgetting about it and not facing it as a very real issue – I can't do that, either. There are guys who aren't too much older than me, and they're out there, fighting and, and dying! And if the _Enterprise_ were closer, we would be in the middle of it as well. If we were in the thick of it, there wouldn't be time for warp bubbles and experiments. It feels a little like life has been a, a lark. Like I haven't taken things as seriously as maybe I should be taking them," Wesley said, becoming more animated.

"You can't put the weight of the world on your shoulders, Wes," Geordi remarked.

"But I shouldn't forget what's happening, either, right? It's just like that guy Tucker. He figured out that he was being kinda, I dunno, protected from it or at least he was far removed – just like I am. And I'm not saying I want to be fired upon or anything like that. What I'm saying is that I have been forgetting it and shunting it aside for far too long. I should not just up and forget that it's happening."

=/\=

"_It's close to midnight and something evil's lurking in the dark  
Under the moonlight, you see a sight that almost stops your heart  
You try to scream but terror takes the sound before you make it  
You start to freeze as horror looks you right between the eyes  
You're paralyzed."_

_Michael Jackson - Thriller_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"_All our times have come__  
__Here but now they're gone__  
__Seasons don't fear the reaper__  
__Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain. We can be like they are__  
__Come on baby...don't fear the reaper__  
__Baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper__  
__We'll be able to fly...don't fear the reaper__  
__Baby I'm your man..."_

_Blue Oyster Cult – Don't Fear the Reaper_

=/\=

The Traveler heard, and saw, what was happening in both places and both time periods, for it was he who was responsible for all of it. "All three of you have learned something," he mused quietly, "And for that, I am only grateful that I was the catalyst. Your species has much to learn about pain and conflict. You must never forget its horrors. You must never escape into pretend horrors as if they were thrills for your own amusement. You must, sometimes, rise up from your comfortable lives and bring suffering to the forefront. You must remember it so that you do not commit it. You must not forget its true costs."

=/\=

Sergeant McCoy came over to the five of them and looked grim. "Sarge, what the hell happened?" asked Martinelli.

"Justice, I guess," replied the sergeant. There was a sound of rumbling. "Sounds like the trucks are back. Let's get those survivors outta here, and get ourselves outta here, too. This place gives me the willies."

"Just like that?" Tucker asked. "You're gonna just dismiss what happened here, just like _that_?"

"I don't recall asking for your opinion, _Private _McBride."

"Well you're getting' it anyway," Tripp's voice began to rise, "That was a war crime in case you've forgotten! Those men – forget that they were monsters! They were sentient beings! They deserved trials! Ain't that what you been fightin' for all along?"

"And all of those people here, all these bodies?" McCoy asked. "You _did_ see all those bodies, right? And you know why it smells like burning skin here? Do you know _why_, Private?" Tucker stood his ground and glared at the sergeant. Somehow, that detail had been forgotten, and he silently cursed himself for forgetting it. He swallowed a little. "McBride," Sergeant McCoy said wearily, "we found crematoria. I guess they threw the bodies in there but it wouldn't shock me if living people were sometimes tossed in as well. I, I don't know what justice is, I guess. And maybe I never will. But I dare anybody who wasn't here to say that this didn't happen. It did. And I was here. And I will knock the block offa anyone who ever says differently. Call me what you like, but if we were here tomorrow and not today, you know what woulda happened? _Do ya_?"

"N-no, sir," Tripp mumbled.

"They had a daily quota, I bet we'll find out," said Sergeant McCoy, "and that means that they woulda filled it. The only thing I'm sorry 'bout is that we weren't here yesterday, or the day before, to make 'em miss those quotas. 'Cause those people didn't deserve to die now, did they? _Did they_?"

"'Course not, sir."

"Then don't tell me about what happened to them guards. You go get on the next truck, and you sit with those survivors, and you help 'em get to the Red Cross hospital or the displaced persons camp. You help those guys onto the truck and you carry anyone off it when you get to your destination if they can't walk. You do that, and you tell me – _hell, ask 'em_ – you find out from them whether those guards were interested in justice or, or mercy. And I think you'll find that they weren't, McBride."

Tucker looked down. "I was never a religious guy. But I think I've seen hell today, sir."

McCoy punched him lightly in the shoulder. "We all have. Now get on that truck."

=/\=

"Power surge, power surge," José Torres muttered to himself as he scanned the Movie Room for the umpteenth time. He had hardly slept. "Three freakin' days. November the second. All Souls' Day, _meu deus._ Wherever you are, Commander Tucker, I hope it's nice."

=/\=

It was far from nice.

He helped the last of the surviving men onto the truck and sat down with O'Shaughnessy, Kuzawa, Martinelli and Shapiro. "Dunno how I can ever go back," he said.

"Dunno how any of us can," Shapiro conceded, not comprehending what he was really saying.

"What I mean is –" Again, he vanished, but only for a split second, as the Traveler did his work.

=/\=

"What the _hell_ happened?" Private Charles McBride asked his pals as he looked around.

"Whaddaya mean?" asked Kuzawa.

"I was in this, this weird place," McBride reported, "I saw all these, these people. They were, like, they didn't look like regular people, know what I'm sayin'?"

"You been talkin' funny all day," O'Shaughnessy commented.

"It's like, man, I been jokin' 'round, but I know now, I need to be serious. This, this is, it's overwhelming," said McBride.

"A weird place? I don't get it," Kuzawa said. "You's still cuckoo."

"Yeah, well, maybe I am. But it was like, like people were forgetting me and I couldn't figure out how to get them not to. And I kinda figured out that forgetting and remembering, I think they're important somehow. I gotta remember. We all do."

"Well, you were the one who wanted more responsibility," said O'Shaughnessy.

"Right," said McBride, "and maybe this is my responsibility. Maybe it is for all of us. To, to remember, and to bear witness. And to give a knuckle sandwich to anyone who says this didn't happen."

"Don't joke about it, McBride," Shapiro said, exasperated.

"But–"

"Leave it alone," Martinelli said, "Just, just leave it alone."

=/\=

In 2367, there was a shimmering of light, and the Traveler appeared. "A lesson has been learned," he said, "And not just by you."

"Well, I think we all figured something out today," Geordi pointed out.

"And in two other time periods as well," the Traveler informed them.

"That would include this Commander Tucker, if I am not in error," Data stated.

"Precisely," said the Traveler, "similar to Wesley here, Commander Tucker was feeling that human conflict was so far removed from his life that it had lost all meaning. Furthermore, a young soldier in 1945 felt that a war was more of an occasion for jokes than for understanding true horrors. He wanted nothing more than to forget everything, and so did his buddies."

"What happens to them?" asked Wesley.

"I brought the 1945 soldier to the warp bubble itself. He did not understand it, but he did learn that he needed others. And he learned that emotionally distancing himself was not his purpose, and that forgetting about all of it was the last thing he should be doing. He became a leader and a lecturer and, late in his life, he became a strong and powerful refuter of Holocaust deniers. And the same was true for his comrades – Stanislaus Kuzawa, Brendan O'Shaughnessy, Antonio Martinelli, Herbert Shapiro and even Sergeant Randall McCoy all took part in remembering, and telling others what they had observed."

"And Commander Tucker?" asked Geordi, most interested in what had happened to his fellow engineer.

"His lesson was that cinematic and fictional horrors are naught when compared to the real thing, and so he set them aside for the remainder of his limited days. He learned that, even if peace is harder, it must be attempted before war. At his death, his legacy was to found a scholarship for promising young engineers. He died young, but what he left behind was a support of the peaceful exploration of space."

"I knew a girl who won the Tucker Prize for Engineering," Geordi recalled, "but I never put it together, until just now, that it was named for him."

"That is correct."

"I should stop these dumb experiments and work for peace," Wesley said, "I should take more responsibility, and not just around here. I should do that in all of the aspects of my life, I think."

"Actually," the Traveler said, "look on your screen." He waved a hand.

"There's the warp bubble!" Wesley exclaimed. "But why?"

"Experiments are important, and you should not cease them just because there is suffering. It is peaceful acts that will ultimately end war, not spending all your days worrying about what you cannot control. Never forget, but you need not allow it to take over your life. For if you cease doing what you do, there will be nothing for others when those conflicts are done." The Traveler vanished.

=/\=

On the _NX-01_, José Torres was shocked when Commander Charles Tucker III materialized in front of him in the Movie Room, in the same seat he had been in when he'd disappeared three days previously. "What the hell happened to you? Uh, sir?"

"I, I seen things. Horrible things," Tucker cried. He got up and ran out.

He didn't know his destination, but found himself at his quarters. His PADD was flashing something fierce, reminding him of the reports that were due. He ignored it.

He located his horror memorabilia and threw most of it into the disposer. The only thing he retained was a small statue of Frankenstein, to remind him of what he had been through, and the life he had briefly stepped into. He opened the door and ran out again. It was evening, and he found himself, inexplicably, at T'Pol's quarters. He rang her door chime.

"Enter."

He barreled in quickly. "I, I'm sorry to bother you. But, but, I gotta, I gotta talk 'bout where I've been."

"Commander, you are in distress."

"So we're back to _Commander_, is it? T'Pol, _please_!" He was weepy. "For, for just one, one night, can't you just, please, just let me be here? It can just be talkin'. But I, I seen things. And I can't be alone with my thoughts. _Please_." He pleaded with her with his eyes.

She blew out her meditation candle. "Tell me what has happened to you, and what you have seen. I will listen."

He sat down with her and began to tell her an incredible tale.

=/\=

"_Well I live with snakes and lizards_

_And other things that go bump in the night_

'_Cause to me every day is Halloween_

_I have given up hiding and started to fight_

_I have started to fight_

_Well any time, any place, anywhere that I go_

_All the people seem to stop and stare_

_They say 'Why are you dressed like it's Halloween?_

_You look so absurd, you look so obscene'_

_Oh, why can't I live a life for me?_

_Why should I take the abuse that's served?_

_Why can't they see they're just like me?_

_It's the same; it's the same in the whole wide world_

_Well I let their teeny minds think_

_That they're dealing with someone who is over the brink_

_And I dress this way just to keep them at bay_

'_Cause Halloween is everyday_

_It's everyday_

_Oh, why can't I live a life for me?_

_Why should I take the abuse that's served?_

_Why can't they see they're just like me?_

_It's the same; it's the same in the whole wide world_

_Oh, why can't I live a life for me?_

_Why should I take the abuse that's served?_

_Why can't they see they're just like me?_

_I'm not the one that's so absurd_

_Why hide it?_

_Why fight it?_

_Hurt feelings_

_Best to stop feeling hurt_

_From denials, reprisals_

_It's the same it's the same in the whole wide world_

_Ministry – (Every Day is) Halloween_


End file.
